


Star Spangled Man in Search of a Plan

by nessismore



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessismore/pseuds/nessismore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has a question. He's just not sure how to ask it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star Spangled Man in Search of a Plan

**Author's Note:**

> For an anonymous prompt over at my tumblr that was Steve/Darcy, ask. And as usual, it ran away from me.

_So much for Star Spangled Man with a Plan,_ Steve thinks as he paces the common room. He’s got the question, he’s got the ring, but a plan is most definitely lacking.

“Should we take pity on him, do you think?” Steve looks up to see Natasha and Clint standing in the doorway, both smirking at him. 

Natasha glances at Clint, then back at Steve. There’s an amused glint in her eye as she saunters into the room. “I think we should.”

Steve pauses in his attempts to wear a hole in the carpet. He doesn’t have time for whatever cryptic game they’re playing and he scowls at the pair of them. “I don’t need your help with anything.”

“Yes, you do,” Clint says with a grin. He takes a seat on one of the couches and pats the cushion next to him, gesturing for Steve to sit. “Unless you’ve somehow managed to figure out how you’re going to propose to Darcy on your own.”

Steve sighs and sits. He doesn’t think that Clint and Natasha are all knowing, but he knows they’re observant. “Which one of you saw me buying the ring?”

Natasha grins and raises her hand. “That would be me. It’s lovely, by the way. She’ll love it. And even if I didn’t see you, you’ve been acting very…shifty.”

Clint snickers, arching his brows. “Yeah. Since you’re already living together, we thought you were either planning to propose or break up with her. And since you _still_ get that dopey grin on your face whenever she’s in the room, it wasn’t hard to figure out. And yes, everybody knows.”

Steve pales. “Does Darcy know?”

“She also thinks you’re either going to propose or break up with her. But she doesn’t have the benefit of knowing what your face looks like when you’re not stupid in love.” Steve shoots to his feet; Natasha pushes him back to the couch and takes a seat on the other side of him.

“Unless you’ve got a plan, the first thing out of your mouth will probably be ‘We need to talk,’ and that never ends well,” Natasha says, patting his hand. “So sit. We’ll plan.”

“Right. Okay. So what’s the plan?” 

“Well you could ask her,” Clint says with a grin.

“Good plan,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.

“No, I’m serious. Darcy’s not a grand gestures kind of girl. Keep it simple, but romantic. Don’t do that crazy jumbotron shit, because that is not Darcy Lewis.”

All of this is true, Steve knows, but… “I’ve seen the movies. Aren’t proposals supposed to be some kind of big deal?”

“They can be a big deal,” Natasha says, “But they don’t have to be a big production.”

“Did somebody call my name?”

Steve groans when he sees Tony in the doorway, because the last thing he needs is someone else offering unsolicited advice. Of course, Clint and Natasha are probably right, but Tony probably won’t be and Steve isn’t up for the headache.

Tony plops down on one of the armchairs, shaking his head in disappointment. “I’ve been waiting for you to come ask me for help, and here you are with the Wonder Twins. You’re asking Tweedle Snoop and Tweedle Liar for advice on how to propose?”

“Which one am I?” Clint whispers, and Steve frowns over at him.

The corners of Natasha’s lips turn up. “I think I’m Tweedle Liar. He still hasn’t gotten over the Natalie Rushman thing.”

Tony ignores the byplay. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, staring at Steve incredulously. “Really? Them? Their idea of romance is probably offering each other their enemies’ hearts on a platter.”

“That’s strictly for fortieth anniversaries,” Natasha deadpans. “Marriage proposals are different. To my knowledge, this is not a thing you have done before.”

“And you have?” Tony demands with a snort.

“Three times, three different missions. One of ‘em even said yes.” There’s a story there, Steve is sure, but Clint looks surprisingly tightlipped about it.

Tony turns his attention to Natasha. “You ever do it?”

Natasha shrugs. “No, but I’ve received several. For different missions, of course, but they were truly lovely proposals.”

“Of course you have,” Tony grumbles. “I’m still an expert on women and what is romantic. And Lewis may be an ugly sweater, simplistic kind of gal, this is a _marriage proposal_. Women want their marriage proposals to be huge. Like, propose on live TV in the middle of a baseball diamond huge. Fly her to Paris and propose to her on top of the Eiffel Tower huge. Organize a flash mob huge. Hey, you could—“

“No, we are not doing a flash mob.” Darcy might love watching flash mob videos on youtube, but he can’t imagine her enjoying a proposal via dancing strangers. Well, okay, she’d probably enjoy it but it wouldn’t feel _right_. “Can we go back to the ‘simple, but romantic’ thing? Because I think I liked that.”

“Simple? Steve, I’m telling you, women—“

“Are individuals and the things they like can’t be summed up into one big generalization,” Natasha says in that soft tone of hers that spells trouble. Clint and Steve instinctively shrink back.

Even Tony winces. “Right. Okay, moving on. Grand gestures. I can have a plane take you to Paris if you want. Or Venice. You can propose on one of those gondola things. Boats are romantic, right?”

This conversation is getting wildly out of hand and Steve would just like to run upstairs to his apartment and tell Darcy that he _does not_ want to break up with her and, actually, he’d like to pretty please spend the rest of his life with her. RIght now, Tony and Clint are arguing the merits of grand gestures versus simple ones, and Steve is trying to figure out if he can get away because he’s fairly certain Clint just suggested baking the ring into a cake, which seems like a really terrible idea.

Steve stands, catching their attention. “Thanks for the suggestions, but these don’t feel…right. Venice, rings in cakes, those things aren’t Darcy or me.”

“So find something that is,” Natasha says with a smile. Inspiration hits, and he grins widely. He has a plan.

—

Steve and Darcy are lying on a blanket in the middle of the park in the spot Darcy had declared “their spot” on their first date. It’s a lovely, secluded little area where they love to picnic. Their picnic lunch is long gone now, and Darcy is sprawled across the blanket, reading a book and twirling her hair around her finger. He puts the finishing touches on his sketch, then he leans over and kisses her on the shoulder.

“Mm, that’s nice,” she murmurs, tilting her head up for a proper kiss. He’s happy to oblige her, and soon he’s lying over her, tongue tangling with hers. “I guess we can’t do this in the park,” she says when they reluctantly break apart.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Darcy says, grinning up at him. “Public decency laws and all of that. Although I’m willing to break the rules if you are.”

Steve laughs and sits up, pulling her with him so that she’s sitting in his lap. “Wanna see what I’m working on?”

“You know I love seeing your art,” Darcy says, settling so that she’s more comfortable. Steve sets the sketchbook in her lap.

He brushes her hair over her shoulder, kissing the exposed skin of her neck. “Start from the beginning.”

She does, laughing when she recognizes them in the first sketch. “This is when we first met.” She runs her fingers over the pencil lines, over Steve’s face on the page where he’s looking at the sketched Darcy in bewilderment. “I thought I scared you.”

“You did scare me. Because even then I wanted to kiss you silly.” He flips the page for her, to a sketch of her kissing him breathless in a supply closet. “As first kisses go, I liked that one a lot.”

“I wasn’t messing around. You were driving me nuts with that old timey charm of yours. I just had to kiss you.” There are a few more sketches—their first date (and after—the tips of his ears heat when she runs a finger over the pair of them tangled in sheets in the bed of her old apartment), the day they moved in together, milestones big and small. Finally, she gets to the sketch he finished today, of the pair of them seated much like they are now. “Marry me,” was carefully written across the top of the page. 

“Please?” he breathes into the soft skin of her neck, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ring. She gasps, and he holds the ring just over the tip of her ring finger. She turns back to look at him, smiling from ear to ear, but he doesn’t see how it could possibly match the one that must be on his face. She moves to slip the ring on her finger, but he moves it away, kissing her on the shoulder. “I need an answer first.”

“Yes!” she shouts, her voice choked with tears; he slips the ring onto her finger, she throws her arms around him and they don’t talk for a long while. 


End file.
